<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>like returning home to retrieve a forgotten item by eclipsed (lucitae)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25825519">like returning home to retrieve a forgotten item</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucitae/pseuds/eclipsed'>eclipsed (lucitae)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Post-Time Skip</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:28:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,335</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25825519</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucitae/pseuds/eclipsed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Suna Rintarou's third visit to Onigiri Miya's physical store, miso flavored onigiri half demolished in hand, when he spots a familiar figure walk through the doors. There's a bag of rice carried in each arm, center of gravity perfectly balanced. Gray blue sleeves are rolled a little past elbows, once white gloves adorn each hand, the stretch of skin in between sun kissed. Rintarou sets his rice ball down before it crumbles in his hands.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kita Shinsuke/Suna Rintarou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>148</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>like returning home to retrieve a forgotten item</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevolos/gifts">nevolos</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for <a href="https://twitter.com/caaarot_">rhom</a> with lots and lots and lots of love. all thanks to <a href="https://twitter.com/caaarot_/status/1292360971252465664?s=20">this art</a> of theirs.</p><p>not based on but <a href="https://twitter.com/Onecata11/status/1288268676597153792?s=20">this tweet</a> started lit a sunakita fire in me.</p><p>also characterizations are a mess please read with a ton of salt. unbeta'd madness.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It's Suna Rintarou's third visit to Onigiri Miya's physical store, miso flavored onigiri half demolished in hand, when he spots a familiar figure walk through the doors. There's a bag of rice carried in each arm, center of gravity perfectly balanced. Gray blue sleeves are rolled a little past elbows, once white gloves adorn each hand, the stretch of skin in between sun kissed. Rintarou sets his rice ball down before it crumbles in his hands.</p><p>His old volleyball captain crosses the threshold to store the rice bags away, evident of how often he's been here. Osamu only tilts his head in acknowledgement. There is no need for directions. A shuffle of placing newer rice towards the back and the near depleted older ones towards the front as if he's done this hundreds of times before. He probably has. </p><p>The food on Rintarou's plate is forgotten as he watches the subtle shift of shoulder blades. He's not even wearing a black jersey that fits snugly against skin. There's no 1 to be found in bold white. Just the same continuation of a efficient looking gray blue outfit and a towel nestled against the nape of his neck.</p><p>Kita Shinsuke stands. The cap comes off. The once ashen hair looks just as loved by the sun as the rest of him and Rintarou momentarily wonders if Osamu had served him some expired onigiri. ( He hasn't. Rintarou watched Osamu prepare it before his very eyes. ) The knot in his stomach tightens when the towel is pulled away from where it sits, revealing the tan line underneath, and takes care of the beads of sweat adorning his face.</p><p>Kita then turns towards Rintarou's direction. What crosses his face is best described as a smile. Something Rintarou rarely saw in the two years of being on the same team until the very end. And once in their third year where he was next to Aran, lost in the crowd of Inarizaki supporters. It's something Rintarou has only seen in passing, caught rare glimpses of, and never was on the receiving end of it.</p><p>Rintarou doesn't look behind him to double check.</p><p>"Ah," Kita says, almost in a <em>if it isn't</em> "Suna. How have you been?"</p><p>"Good." Rintarou doesn't stumble even though his heart stutters in his chest, giving his usual short replies.</p><p>Kita nods, expression fond.</p><p>Rintarou wonders where his old captain went. The one so utterly perfect there were no faults to be found. The one who arrived first at morning practice, despite Rintarou's best efforts. The one who stayed the course, despite the well known short cut. The one who was seated at the top of class in terms of grades. The one who's only weakness is static electricity that was more trivia and less useful. The one who Rintarou had devoted more than a year to find the cracks of humanity beneath that godly facade.</p><p>And here he is: smiling. At Suna Rintarou. A former underclassman. He probably doesn't even know which team Rintarou has signed onto.</p><p>So when Kita Shinsuke approaches with the intent to catch up, Suna Rintarou lets him in between clearing his plate of every last grain of rice.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Turns out Kita Shinsuke does know which team Rintarou plays for. Even watched a game or two. Probably the ones against MSBY Black Jackals or Tachibana Red Falcons, but Rintarou takes it. Just like the number saved in his contacts and the new chatroom that starts off with one HELLO! sticker.</p><p>The queasiness has yet to go away. Just settles somewhere in his chest and Rintarou wonders if he's reached the age for heartburn.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next time Rintarou encounters his old volleyball captain is once again at Onigiri Miya. Except this time Osamu holds a finger up to his own lips, indicating the need for silence. Rintarou looks around the store and the lack of patrons before spotting Kita in a corner.</p><p>"He wanted to help out before everyone arrived," Osamu explains in whispers, hand sloshing through enough rice to feed — well, to feed an entire volleyball club. The <em>reserved for a private</em> <em>party</em> sign is already propped outside. Rintarou only arrived hours before the scheduled reunion for a free meal and to watch Osamu struggle preparing enough food for Inarizaki's volleyball club alumni. Except Kita Shinsuke is now here, changing his plans.</p><p>"Hey, don't wake him," Osamu warns as if Rintarou was ever going to do such a thing.</p><p>Rintarou stops just a step away from where Kita rests his head on his arms, face towards the wall. It's surprisingly vulnerable. So different from the impression Rintarou has built of Kita Shinsuke over the years.</p><p>Rintarou's hand reaches out, fingers just shy of brushing against the top of Kita's hair, and stops.</p><p>Years ago when Rintarou was still collared by a necktie, wondering if Kita spoke to animals using baby talk, he had briefly thought about a scene like this. The flawless captain, loved by all, caught napping in between classes. Lulled to sleep by the warm afternoon sun as the blinds billow in the lazy summer heat. Earphones wedged into ears, unaware of the rest of the world. Rintarou would steal the chair in front of Kita and sit backwards, arms taking over the rest of the unoccupied space on Kita's table as he takes an earbud to savor Kita's music taste.</p><p>Or they are on a train where the orange and purple hues of sunset flashes through the windows. Their shadows grow and elongate, shake with every rattle of the car. And Kita, lulled by the motion of the train on top of exhaustion from practice, nods off. Head accidentally falling against Rintarou's shoulder and taking residence there.</p><p>Except Kita Shinsuke would never nap in class. He probably doesn't have earphones either. Their houses are in opposite directions and neither of them commute via public transportation to school.</p><p>Rintarou pulls back, scalded by the heat of shame.</p><p>His old thoughts never took him so far so why...</p><p>Rintarou drops down on the seat across from Kita, deflated.</p><p>The clatter of the wooden stool against hard flooring is enough to rouse Kita. Kita shifts, turning his head in the direction of the sound, and looks up at Rintarou blearily. "You're here," he says, voice still weighed with sleep. But it's the expression on his face where his lips are curved upwards and framed by eyes that could only be best described as tender that punches the last breath out of Rintarou's lungs.</p><p>He chokes on memories he doesn't need. Ones he was certain he had left behind.</p><p>Rintarou is still frozen in place as he watches Kita stretch out of his nap. His old impressions shifting. The once empyrean now turned mortal.</p><p>"Yeah," Rintarou answers, speechless. And decides that maybe, just maybe, he prefers this version of his old captain more.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>There is alcohol in his veins and onigiri in his stomach when Kita's warm hand against his back escorts him into a cab. It stays with him, even when he's strapped in and the driver has long left Onigiri Miya, even when the incessant chatter of the reunion has long faded from his system. Rintarou thinks about the implications of eyes being drawn to a certain individual, brushed aside as a series of observations. About finding the sound of his laugh particularly memorable and the way he tilts his head back while doing so something Rintarou would like to see again. About—</p><p><em>Of course it was a crush</em>, the annoying Atsumu voice in his head says, <em>what did you think it was?</em></p><p>Nothing really. It wasn't like he wrote love letters and shoved it into Kita's locker, lingering by rows of shoe lockers after school in hopes he would read them. Or made chocolates during Valentine's mustering all the courage to confess to him because the way to a man's heart is through the stomach. And oh</p><p>Perhaps the fact that he can remember all these instances vividly is enough proof. The popular Kita Shinsuke with his constant admirers. All on the shy, reserved side with nervous hands that tucked long strands of black hair behind an ear as they spoke to him. Bowed and thanked him in return when he chose time and time again to devote his youth to volleyball.</p><p><em>See, I told you so</em>, Atsumu sings. And since he's just a voice in Rintarou's head, Rintarou vows to spike the ball at Atsumu's face in their next game.</p><p>The colors of Osaka wash away over the windows. Rintarou catches glimpses of his own reflection now and then. And wonders if this the face of a man who might not be experiencing symptoms of reflux but rather recognizing the signs of a crush revisited.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Rintarou blames it on extraordinary circumstances. He is no longer in high school. And crushes fade with time.</p><p>Kita asks him about his day in their chatroom and it no longer makes Rintarou question the shelf life of the food he just ate.</p><p>So really, Rintarou smirks as the ball he spiked whizzes past Atsumu and lands untouched in the back row, he's over it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"You talk about him a lot," Komori Motoya notes, "your old volleyball captain."</p><p>It is after practice. The usual sort of locker room talk. It takes a turn this evening.</p><p>"I'm pretty sure I talk about Atsumu in equal measure," Rintarou replies unfazed as he slips his shirt back on, ignoring how it absorbs some of the water from the shower, dampening around his shoulders.</p><p>"No," says Washio Tatsuki.</p><p>Rintarou blinks.</p><p>"Everyone knows Miya Atsumu." Because he's made a name for himself. Because they play MSBY Black Jackals every now and then. But "your captain's name is Kita, isn't it?" There is no judgement behind that question. Washio isn't like that.</p><p>Komori nods in agreement.</p><p>Heat crawls over Rintarou's skin as if he's thrown under the limelight. Suddenly, he's reminded of the way his face contorts into a grin at the notifications and message previews from a certain individual.</p><p>So maybe Rintarou hasn't gotten over his high school crush.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>There are two ways to get over a crush that has been plaguing you since high school.</p><p>And since time clearly isn't the answer, Rintarou texts Kita an invitation to meet up. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I spent a majority of my time in high school thinking about you," Rintarou admits when only a rim of <em>yuzushu</em> is left at the bottom of his glass, ice mostly melted, "I bet you didn't think much of me at all."</p><p>The lights in this establishment are yellow, dim, meant to resemble warmth. But all they do is bring out the harshness to Kita's eyes when he says: "I know."</p><p>Whether that is for the first part or a roundabout way to affirm the second, Rintarou laughs hollowly and decides it's probably a bit of both. The sound that falls from his lips is too brittle, even by his standards. The corner of Shinsuke's lips pull down. Rintarou pretends not to see it.</p><p>"That's what I like about you, Kita-san."</p><p>It's dry. He knocks the last bit of his glass back. Ice clinking against teeth. A few droplets trickle into his mouth, pathetically. It's not nearly enough.</p><p>How apt, Rintarou's lips curl, just like the end to whatever this is.</p><p>"Why do you say it with finality?" Kita questions, tone neutral like the days of old. Or maybe there's an edge to it. The alcohol in Rintarou's veins blunts his ability to parse through the nuances. It's better this way. Less implications to read. Allowing him to remain ignorant to how insignificant he was in Kita Shinsuke's past.</p><p>"Because it is," Rintarou says, meeting Kita's gaze. "Final, I mean."</p><p>Kita holds the cup between both hands and places it down on the wooden table. Under this light Rintarou can't tell where Kita's tan lines begin and where they end. It's better like this. More like the Kita Shinsuke of the past. The unreachable captain everyone both simultaneously respected and feared.</p><p>Rintarou plasters a smile to his face.</p><p>Kita falls silent.</p><p>And before Rintarou can get up from his seat and offer to pay as an apology for dragging Kita out, Kita says: "That might have been true then." His gaze steady. Almost like how it used to be when he caught Rintarou slacking off towards the end of a set. The same intensity but also softened somehow. "But it doesn't have to be true now."</p><p>Rintarou hiccups.</p><p>His brain left behind as it attempts to process Kita's words.</p><p>The smile that grows on Kita's face is fond. Rintarou recognizes with a start that it is only directed at him. Not a sweeping gaze where Suna Rintarou is just one of the many who happened to be in the same place.</p><p>Part of him thinks it is the alcohol and he's hallucinating.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"I said," Kita's hands are in his lap, pressed together. Rintarou brushes it away as a trick of light when he sees them fidget a little. "It might have been true that I didn't think about you during our high school years beyond volleyball. But that's not the case now."</p><p>Kita Shinsuke doesn't lie.</p><p>And because Kita Shinsuke doesn't lie, Suna Rintarou can believe in him.</p><p>"What changed?"</p><p>Shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. It isn't dismissive. "Who knows?" Kita's lips curl against his glass, playfulness woven into his expression. He doesn't look away even as he takes a sip. The gaze causes the rarely dormant butterflies to kick up in a frenzy, threatening to tear out of Rintarou's torso.</p><p>Rintarou gets it, sort of. Just like how the brief interest in finding something of Kita's he could poke fun at spiraled into an obsession. And once the moments began to pile up, Rintarou was already in too deep. All this needs is just a bit of curiosity.</p><p>"Then please think of me more," Rintarou says.</p><p>He takes the unwavering smile as a yes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm so sorry if there's like a huge skip but my brain only wanted to write certain scenes and i stitched them together. ( barely )</p><p>title comes from kenshi yonezu's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KdGirBkkcrw">lemon</a>. expect me to use the same song but different lyrics for future fics wheezes.</p><p>thank you for reading this little indulgent fic of mine!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>